


Sherlock: Yellow On Orange

by IBegToDreamAndDiffer



Series: Sherlock: Colours [8]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, Fights, Friendship, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-23
Updated: 2012-01-23
Packaged: 2017-10-30 01:04:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,464
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/326057
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IBegToDreamAndDiffer/pseuds/IBegToDreamAndDiffer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock begins to focus on the physical aspects of his relationship with John, leaving the doctor feeling used and unloved. Sherlock might just have ruined the very best thing in his life when John decides to end it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sherlock: Yellow On Orange

**Author's Note:**

> Ownership: Original characters are owned by Arthur Conan Doyle, these versions are owned by Steven Moffat and Mark Gatiss. I just get to play.

_Mycroft paused at the door. ‘It may just be my imagination,’ he said slowly, ‘but does anybody else smell roses?’ John blushed furiously, Sherlock glared at his brother, and Mycroft smirked evilly. ‘Have a lovely morning,’ he said and allowed Greg to drag him from the flat._

 _The door shut with a soft click and John groaned. Sherlock buried his face in John’s chest. ‘I am so very, very sorry.’_

 _‘Doesn’t matter,’ John said. ‘We’re alone now.’_

 _Sherlock looked up at him, at his coy smile. ‘Really?’_

 _‘Yep,’ John said and dragged Sherlock up. ‘That was fantastic and I wanna do it again.’_

 _Sherlock chuckled as John dragged him upstairs. He stopped him at the door._

 _‘Sherlock?’_

 _‘I love you, John. I always have and always will.’_

 _John smiled and kissed Sherlock slowly, chastely. ‘And I love you.’_

 _And then he pulled Sherlock into Sherlock’s old room and shut the door._

 _The smell of roses would linger in the flat for days to come._

 

-oOo-

 

‘Jesus!’ John shouted. Sherlock had unzipped him right there, in the kitchen, while John was making tea. ‘Sh-Sherlock,’ John groaned but made no attempt to stop Sherlock. His boyfriend was now bobbing up and down, his hot mouth taking in John’s even hotter skin. ‘Fuck.’

Ever since Sherlock had fucked John more than four weeks before, Sherlock was like a sex-machine. He just went crazy at the oddest moments; John watching Doctor Who and suddenly Sherlock’s taking his pants off; John doing the dishes and there’s Sherlock, pressing into him from behind; John swapping a DVD and next thing he’s bent over the coffee table, begging to be fucked; and now, making tea, and suddenly Sherlock’s ravishing him.

John loved it, he loved Sherlock, but he was getting a bit jumpy. Any minute of any day and Sherlock could suddenly want him and come demanding sex. John would have to put a stop to it soon; he was getting tired. But Sherlock was really, really good with those hands.

He came suddenly and groaned as he emptied himself into Sherlock’s mouth. Sherlock sucked it all down before zipping John up and stepping back into the living room. He fell onto the couch and went back to procrastinating.

John just stood before the kitchen counter on shaky legs, breathing heavily and staring as the kettle boiled. Finally he managed to pull himself together and finish making tea. He took the two cups into the living room and sat in his arm chair. He glanced at Sherlock, who had his eyes closed and was flexing his left hand. He had three nicotine patches stuck to his arm.

John sighed and grabbed the book he’d been reading. He was glad that Sherlock had quit smoking but three patches, really? It seemed a bit excessive to John. But Sherlock couldn’t be talked out of... anything, really, so John just settled back and continued reading.

 

-oOo-

 

‘Sherlock,’ John said and tried to push Sherlock back. Sherlock was all over him, John sitting in his arm chair and Sherlock now atop him. ‘Sherlock, stop,’ John tried again.

But Sherlock was having none of that and suddenly he had John’s shirt off. John moaned as Sherlock’s nimble fingers found his nipples. Sherlock slid off of John and took off his shoes, socks, pants and underwear.

Sherlock stepped from his own, leaving his faded t-shirt on. With suddenly lube-covered fingers, Sherlock pulled at John’s cock and made him moan.

Sherlock slipped back onto his partner and suddenly John was inside him. John gasped and gripped Sherlock’s hips, all thoughts of making Sherlock back off now wiped from his mind. Sherlock moved quickly, not wanting to draw out an orgasm. It was all heat and tightness and groaning and swearing.

John came suddenly and pushed himself back into the arm chair while at the same time pushing up into Sherlock. Sherlock moaned and came all over John before resting his face against John’s chest.

And then he was sliding away and disappearing into the bathroom, leaving a very hot and sweaty John Watson behind.

‘Bloody hell,’ he moaned and looked down at the mess he and Sherlock had made. Seriously, what had gotten into Sherlock? There was no romance anymore; no planning or nights spent staring at each other and smiling. It was all what Sherlock wanted; heat, tightness, demands for sex or blow jobs wherever he was.

And though Sherlock was a fantastic partner, and though John loved him, the doctor was getting a bit fed up with Sherlock’s attitude.

 

-oOo-

 

‘No,’ John hissed as Sherlock dragged him into an alley. The crime scene was just around the corner and John did _not_ want Lestrade arresting him for indecent exposure. ‘Sherlock, seriously, stop it.’

Sherlock already had him out and though it took a minute to get John hard, eventually he was sucking on John’s hard and heavy cock, making the doctor gasp.

‘Sherlock, this is a bad idea,’ John moaned and pushed himself into Sherlock’s eager mouth. ‘Why are you doing this?’

Sherlock’s teeth scraped along John’s cock and he gasped, groaning and gripping Sherlock’s hair. Sherlock played with his balls and sucked harder, making little sucking noises and moans deep in his throat.

A few more sucks and John was coming, shuddering and leaning back against the brick wall. He was sweating and panting as Sherlock stood and kissed him.

‘Thank you,’ he smirked and bounded off, leaving John out and completely broken.

John managed to zip himself up and stumble back to the crime scene.

‘You look... sweaty,’ Lestrade tried.

John sighed.

‘What?’

‘Sherlock’s been... I don’t know,’ John sighed again.

‘That makes no sense,’ Lestrade said.

John ran a hand through his hair and said, ‘He’s just all over me, all the time. There’s no romance anymore, it’s just sex, wherever he wants it. I’m getting sick of it.’

‘Ah, right,’ Lestrade said and paused. ‘Talking would help.’

‘I try, but he just grabs me and makes me forget about saying anything.’

Lestrade snorted. ‘John, this isn’t good for your relationship; getting pissed off at Sherlock and not telling him won’t help anything.’

‘I know. I just don’t want to fight.’

‘Couples fight, John. The fact that you haven’t yet is weird.’

‘We’ve fought, mostly in the beginning when he was cutting and I wasn’t ready. But not lately, we’ve been good... until now.’

Lestrade just smiled softly as Sherlock came over and grabbed John. He held his hand tightly and said he’d look into the case before dragging his boyfriend away.

 

-oOo-

 

John knew Lestrade was right; he was getting angrier and angrier, at Sherlock and himself. At Sherlock for just grabbing him whenever he saw fit and at himself for letting it happen.

But Sherlock was bloody hot and the fact that he even wanted John was amazing. He didn’t want to ruin their relationship by pushing Sherlock away. What if Sherlock took it to mean John never wanted him?

That was the main reason John didn’t bring it up for another two weeks. But one night, tired from the surgery and starving, he entered 221B and completely went off the deep end.

Sherlock, like usual, was all over him and John pushed him back.

‘No.’

Sherlock continued, running his lips along John’s neck. But John forced him away again. He would not just allow Sherlock to take what he wanted; he wouldn’t let Sherlock scramble his mind and make him hide his anger.

‘What?’ Sherlock demanded, frustrated now.

‘No, Sherlock, I’m tired.’

Sherlock just raised an eyebrow and said, ‘Excuse me?’

‘I said no, Sherlock,’ John growled and removed his jacket. He went into the kitchen, looking for something to eat but finding nothing. Sherlock watched him from the archway, staring as John looked for anything edible. Other than tea there was nothing and John sighed. He could really use something solid in his stomach. ‘Fancy going out?’ he asked.

‘I’d fancy fucking you,’ Sherlock said.

John rolled his eyes and hunted for their many takeout menus.

Sherlock’s arms wrapped around John and he nibbled at the doctor’s neck. John ignored him until one of Sherlock’s pale hands slid into his trousers.

He turned and pushed Sherlock back. ‘I said _no_.’

Sherlock looked hurt, and confused, and angry. He folded his arms. ‘What?’

‘Sherlock, I’m bloody sick of you just jumping me whenever the hell you want!’

Sherlock raised his eyebrows. ‘Are you saying you don’t want me?’

‘No... yes... fuck, Sherlock, don’t turn this back on me!’ John said, anger building in his chest. He was bloody sick of it.

‘So you don’t want me,’ Sherlock said and glared at him. ‘I knew this day would come.’

That made John freeze. ‘Excuse me?’

‘Just like everybody else, you’re going to walk away,’ Sherlock huffed. ‘Fine, John, just go.’

John just stared at him and only moved when Sherlock retreated into the living room to flop onto the couch.

‘Sherlock, don’t be like that,’ John sighed.

‘Be look what?’ Sherlock asked angrily. ‘Be upset that my boyfriend wants to leave and dump me? Well I’m sorry, John, but I do actually have feelings.’

‘You do?’ John asked, his own anger making his words razor sharp. ‘’Cause all I see is a fucking sociopath who jumps me whenever he fucking wants.’

‘Well excuse _me_ for wanting to show affection to my partner.’

‘Affection?’ John snarled, nearly shouting now. ‘That’s not fucking affection! That’s animal need that you fucking seize every chance you get!’ Sherlock just stared at him and John found himself getting even angrier. ‘You can’t just fuck me whenever you want, Sherlock! A relationship goes both ways!’

‘It’s all one way from where I’m sitting,’ Sherlock sneered.

‘That’s what I mean!’

‘Oh, so you agree that I’m the only one who seems to want to have sex?’ Sherlock asked in that annoyingly smug way of his.

‘No, Sherlock, Jesus!’ John shouted and turned to run his hands through his hair. He took a step away before putting his hands on his hips and saying, ‘A relationship isn’t just about sex, Sherlock! It’s about showing the other you care, about talking and sharing time together and fucking just being together! But all you want is sex lately!’

‘I love you,’ Sherlock huffed.

‘You have a funny way of showing it,’ John said and turned to face him. ‘Sherlock, I love you, and I love having sex with you, but sex has to be about more than just getting off. And for you, that’s all it is lately. I’m getting jumpy, thinking you’re gonna fuck me at any moment.’

‘Isn’t spontaneity important to maintaining a relationship?’ Sherlock asked.

‘Yes, but it’s not all about that,’ John fumed. How could he explain this? ‘Sherlock, I miss the dinners and the long sex and the paying fucking attention to each other. Don’t you miss just lying in bed and cuddling?’

‘Cuddling is boring,’ Sherlock drawled.

John felt iciness grip his heart. ‘Right,’ he said, suddenly finding it hard to breath. ‘You find hugging me boring?’ Sherlock just stared at him and John shook his head. ‘I can’t believe I fucking love you.’

‘What?’ Sherlock said, standing now.

‘You heard me!’ John screamed and Sherlock took a step back, eyes widening. ‘I fell for a fucking sociopath! But it’s true, all of it! You don’t love me; you just wanted something to do!’

‘John, that’s not true,’ Sherlock said, ‘don’t be an idiot.’

‘So I’m an idiot now?’ John demanded.

‘Yes, you are!’ Sherlock shouted.

‘Fuck you!’ John screamed and balled his hands into fists. ‘I don’t... I can’t... fuck you, Sherlock! I can’t believe I fucking fell for you or ever tried to help! Cut yourself, smoke, do drugs, see if I fucking care! ’Cause I’m done. If you find me idiotic and don’t want to spend a fucking hour together without your dick in me, then fuck you! Find some other poor bloke to fuck over because I’m done!’

Sherlock watched, his heart ripping itself into small pieces, as John grabbed his jacket and stormed from 221B. He slammed the door and Sherlock fell to curl into a ball on the floor. He felt tears spill down his cheeks, the first time he’d cried in a while.

He’d ruined it, ruined everything. John wasn’t coming back, not after that.

Sherlock felt the cold, black darkness grip his chest and looked at the bathroom through thick tears.

 

-oOo-

 

Greg Lestrade opened the door, yawning, and raised his eyebrows. ‘John?’

‘Hey,’ John said, his voice broken.

Lestrade could tell he’d been crying. ‘What happened?’

‘Sherlock... broke up,’ John managed and began crying again.

Lestrade sighed and pulled John in. He led him to the couch and Mycroft sat up, pulling himself from the couch so John could fall onto it. Lestrade put a reassuring arm around the doctor’s shoulders.

‘What happened?’

‘He... tried... sex... again,’ John said and Mycroft raised an eyebrow, looking at Lestrade for an explanation.

‘Sherlock’s been... very physical lately,’ Lestrade said as John cried against his shoulder. ‘He’s been jumping John whenever he can.’

‘Doesn’t care... said hugging me is boring,’ John said through sobs. ‘Basically told me I was... just a fuck buddy.’

Mycroft sighed and rubbed his eyes. He looked exhausted and was only wearing pyjama pants and a faded t-shirt. John was too distraught to look at the man’s casualness.

‘I’ll go talk to him,’ Mycroft said and stood.

‘Don’t bother...’ John cried and balled his jumper in his fists. ‘Don’t wanna... fucking... see him.’

‘That’s not true, John,’ Mycroft said soothingly. ‘Let me talk to him.’ He leaned forward and kissed Lestrade softly. ‘Sorry, love.’

‘S’alright,’ Greg said. ‘Go talk to your stupid brother.’

Mycroft smiled and went to get changed.

 

-oOo-

 

Mycroft stepped from his car and proceeded up to 221B. He was tired, had been awake for three days, and had been looking forward to a relaxing night at his boyfriend’s, whom he hadn’t seen in nearly a week.

But Sherlock had ruined everything by ignoring his and John’s emotions. Mycroft sighed as he tapped at the door. Sometimes Sherlock really irritated him.

There was no answer, of course, so Mycroft pushed the door open and stepped in. Sherlock was nowhere to be seen and Mycroft headed straight for the bathroom.

He found Sherlock sitting against the counter, a large knife in his hand. He was shirtless and his pale and horribly scarred forearms were showing. But there were no cuts, which was something.

He’d been sitting there for twenty minutes after grabbing the steak knife and shedding his dressing gown and shirt. The need to cut was like a fire raging inside him; the blood, the control, the pain, all of it very missed.

‘Sherlock...’ Mycroft said slowly and propped his umbrella against the wall. ‘Put the knife down.’

‘No,’ Sherlock said roughly and Mycroft realised he was crying. ‘I ruined it.’

‘No you didn’t,’ Mycroft said calmly, trying to take control of the situation.

‘I did,’ Sherlock said and tears fell down his red and puffy face. His chest hurt, his head hurt, everything _hurt._ It was as though John had taken a giant piece of Sherlock with him when he’d left and Sherlock didn’t know how to get it back. ‘I... John... I ruined it, Mycroft. He’s gone.’

‘He’s at Gregory’s,’ Mycroft said and stepped closer. The hand holding the knife shook and Mycroft kept his eyes on it. ‘Sherlock, you can fix this.’

‘Can’t,’ Sherlock said and the knife slid closer to his arm. The need to cut was burning through him, grapping at him. The cutting, the stinging, the burning, it would take this other pain away. It would make him feel better, in control. ‘I ruined it, he’s never coming back.’

‘He will, Sherlock,’ Mycroft said, edging closer to his fragile brother. ‘Couples fight all the time.’

‘I don’t... I don’t understand,’ Sherlock managed and the tip of the knife slid to rest against his pale skin. The steel felt good against him and Sherlock shivered. He needed it, the cutting, the welts, the scars. He had promised John he wouldn’t...

... but John was gone.

‘A relationship is about emotions, Sherlock, as well as sexual needs,’ Mycroft explained softly. ‘You were ignoring the emotional part, like usual.’

‘I didn’t mean to,’ Sherlock said and the tip dug into his skin. A spot of blood appeared on his white skin and rolled across. It felt _so_ good, like a prick of joy. It was spreading through him but not far enough; he needed more to stop the hurt, the ache that John Watson had left behind. ‘I love John so much that I... I couldn’t... I’ve ruined it.’

The tip dug in deeper and Sherlock shivered in response. It was so good. Mycroft stepped forward to crouch beside Sherlock. Sherlock didn’t look at him.

‘Sherlock, you can fix this. John is hurt at the moment but he still loves you.’

‘Doesn’t,’ Sherlock grunted. Mycroft placed a hand on Sherlock’s freshly bleeding left arm. Mycroft’s warmth, his power, burst through Sherlock’s arm like hot wax. It pushed away the darkness, the pain, and left Sherlock hollow but... better. Sherlock pulled the knife away very, very slightly, and turned to look at his brother.

‘He loves you, Sherlock, for all your faults. If he didn’t he wouldn’t be with you.’

‘He’s not with me,’ Sherlock said but pulled the knife back a little more. ‘Not anymore.’

‘Sherlock, he is,’ Mycroft said and his grip tightened. ‘Come on, give me the knife.’

Sherlock shook his head.

‘Please, Sherlock, don’t do this. John wouldn’t want you to.’

Sherlock gulped down a breath and his hand shook slightly.

‘Sherlock,’ Mycroft tried again. ‘Let’s talk, in the living room, away from the bathroom and the knife. Please, brother, don’t do this. Let me prove to you that John still loves you.’

There was silence, then, and the two brothers stared at each other. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity to Mycroft, Sherlock nodded. His brother’s warmth had left him... he didn’t need the knife, no. He wouldn’t betray John, not again.

That feeling stole over him and he found his grip on the knife slacking. He couldn’t betray John, not again. No, the cutting wouldn’t happen, Sherlock would stop it and Mycroft would help.

The knife went slack in his grip and Mycroft reached over and plucked it from his nimble fingers. He sighed in relief.

Suddenly Sherlock needed more of his brother’s warmth and fell into him, gripping the jacket as his powerful brother held him. Mycroft placed the knife on the sink and gripped Sherlock equally tightly as the younger brother broke down and wept.

 

-oOo-

 

John sighed and leaned against Greg’s table. He’d cried himself out and was feeling weak as he accepted the beer bottle Greg handed him.

‘I fucking hate him.’

‘No you don’t.’

‘I want to.’

‘I know you do.’

John sighed again. ‘I can’t believe... I don’t want to break up with him.’ Lestrade nodded along as he spoke. ‘I really love him but... the things he said...’

‘What did he say, exactly?’ Lestrade asked.

John leaned further along the counter and twirled the bottle in his hands. ‘He’s just been all over me, you know? And it’s not like I don’t love sex with him, but there’s no romance anymore. He just jumps me and fucks me ’til I come. And then he disappears or goes back to sitting on the couch for five hours. There’s no romance anymore, no dates or anything. We used to just lie in bed together and enjoy each other’s company. I told him that and he said, ‘Cuddling’s boring’, like he was just using me when he got bored. I snapped and he basically broke up with me.’

‘I’m sure he didn’t.’

‘He said I was leaving like he knew I would. He’s probably gloating about it now to his brother; saying how he turned the straight little doctor and fucked him over.’

‘John, you know that’s not true,’ Greg sighed and sipped his beer. ‘Sherlock’s not good with feelings but he _does_ have them. And he loves you; I can tell, Mycroft can tell, and Sherlock can bloody tell.’

‘I think it’s over.’

‘It’s not,’ Greg said, sternly, and John looked at him. ‘You’ll go home and Sherlock will apologise because Mycroft will show him what he’s done wrong. Sherlock will get there in the end and he’ll apologise, I’m sure of it.’

They lapsed into silence and John downed his beer. Greg handed him another one.

‘Greg?’ asked.

‘Mm?’ the DI said and turned to look at John.

‘I love him,’ John said.

Greg nodded and sipped his beer. ‘I know you do, John. I know.’

‘What do I do?’ John moaned.

‘Make him say sorry,’ Greg said.

‘That’s not going to help.’

‘Talking will help, John, believe me. Sometimes Sherlock doesn’t realise what he’s saying; his brain moves too fast. Give him a chance to apologise. Don’t let one small fight ruin it.’

John sighed and leaned against the table, fiddling with his beer.

 

-oOo-

 

‘He can just be so idiotic!’ Sherlock fumed. The tears were gone and he sat on the couch, arms folded and lips pouting.

‘I am aware of that,’ Mycroft answered from John’s armchair, though he knew none of this was John’s fault. While John probably could have explained himself better, it was Sherlock at fault and he knew it.

‘I hate him sometimes.’

Mycroft sighed. ‘That is not true, Sherlock, and you know it. Sometimes you may dislike John or what he does or says, but you most definitely do not hate him.’

Sherlock went quiet and Mycroft let him, just sitting and twirling his umbrella.

‘Mycroft?’

‘Yes, brother?’

‘I love John.’

‘I am aware of that, Sherlock,’ Mycroft said. ‘I am well aware of that.’

‘I don’t know what to do.’

‘Apologise.’

Sherlock looked at him. ‘It’s not that simple.’

‘I know,’ Mycroft said and smiled. ‘But it’s a start.’

Sherlock nodded slowly.

‘Sherlock, you almost ruined this,’ Mycroft said.

‘I fear I have.’

‘No you haven’t,’ Mycroft sighed.

Sherlock paused before asking, ‘What have I done wrong?’

Mycroft looked at him carefully. It was rare for Sherlock to ask him for help but this was very serious; Sherlock’s relationship with John was on the line and he wanted to fix it. He’d accept help even from Mycroft.

‘Sherlock, you focused on your animal instincts and ignored the emotional aspects. John was beginning to feel used. I take it you two don’t just cuddle and enjoy each other’s company anymore?’

Sherlock shook his head. ‘Not in a while.’

‘And no more dates?’

‘We’re in a relationship, why do we have to go on dates?’

‘It’s nice to take some time off and just focus on your relationship, Sherlock,’ Mycroft tried to explain. He’d always understood human emotions better than his brother. ‘John wants dates and time together and just cuddling and watching TV. He wanted to just enjoy your company and know he’s loved. He thinks you just want sex now.’

‘I... I don’t,’ Sherlock said and swallowed. How had he managed to fuck this up? He loved John Watson more than anything but... Sherlock just wasn’t good with emotions. And it might have cost him his relationship. ‘I want him around all the time.’

‘Then stop jumping him and just hold him, Sherlock. The man isn’t a piece of meat you can take whenever you fancy. He’s a real man with real emotions. Show him that you care. Not all the time, he doesn’t need declarations of love every five seconds. But once in a while he’d appreciate a date, some flowers, maybe just a soft kiss and ‘I love you’. All he asks is that you respect him.’

Sherlock nodded and leaned back. ‘Have I ruined it, Mycroft?’ He needed to know, to be assured that John was coming back. He didn’t think he could live without John, not now.

‘No, brother,’ Mycroft replied. ‘But if you apologise and work for his affection, everything will work out.’

‘I love him.’

‘Then tell him.’

 

-oOo-

 

John spent the night on Lestrade’s couch and Sherlock on his own. Mycroft stayed where he was, awake and alert. Though he was exhausted and wanted to spend time with his own boyfriend, he didn’t trust Sherlock enough to leave him alone, especially after the knife incident.

Sherlock woke around nine to find Mycroft standing.

‘I have to go, Sherlock.’

‘John?’ Sherlock asked.

‘Still at Gregory’s,’ Mycroft answered.

‘Oh.’

Sherlock rubbed sleep from his eyes and sat up.

‘Sherlock, promise me you won’t cut yourself.’

‘I won’t.’

‘And apologise to John when he returns,’ Mycroft said and hesitated at the door. ‘Let him calm down, Sherlock. Don’t try for anything physical yet.’

‘I won’t.’ Mycroft stepped through the door but stopped and turned when Sherlock said, ‘Mycroft?’

‘Yes, brother?’

Sherlock bit his bottom lip and said, ‘Thank you.’

Mycroft nodded. ‘Any time, Sherlock.’

 

-oOo-

 

John entered 221B quietly, looking around. Sherlock was nowhere to be seen and he sighed, half in annoyance and half in relief. He wasn’t sure he wanted to see Sherlock yet but was a bit annoyed the man wasn’t grovelling on his knees.

Lestrade had been called away to a murder and John didn’t feel comfortable staying alone in the man’s flat. Plus he wanted a shower and change of clothes.

He went into the bathroom and his eyes immediately fell on the knife that Mycroft had left on the sink. The tip was coated in blood and his heart froze.

‘Sherlock?’ he choked. He cleared his throat. ‘Sherlock? SHERLOCK!’

Sherlock was suddenly there, dressed in the same faded t-shirt, tracksuit pants and dressing gown as when John had least seen him. ‘What’s wrong?’ he asked.

John’s panic outweighed the anger he was feeling and he grabbed at Sherlock’s arms. He pushed back the sleeve of one arm and found the skin pale, scarred, but no fresh cuts. He moved to the next arm and sighed when he saw the very tiny cut near Sherlock’s wrist.

‘Sherlock?’ he questioned.

‘Mycroft stopped me.’

‘Were you really going to do it?’ John asked.

‘I wanted to,’ Sherlock admitted. The darkness had nearly overwhelmed him, the need to cut had almost been too much; the control, the pain, the burning, everything. But Mycroft had been there, his warmth and power enough to make Sherlock snap out of it.

They stood in silence, then, just staring at each other. Sherlock stepped forward hesitantly and when John didn’t move he pulled his arms around John tightly. John allowed himself to be drawn to Sherlock’s chest.

‘I’m very, very sorry, John,’ Sherlock said above him. ‘I cannot believe how idiotic I was. I apologise for forgetting the romantic aspects of our relationship. I was so caught up in wanting your body that I...’ he swallowed before continuing, ‘... I forget that I need to show how much I love you and appreciate you on more than a physical level. I’ve never been in a relationship and don’t know how to act.’

He pulled back and cupped John’s face to look at him. His pale blue eyes were very serious and very scared. He was crying now and John’s eyes widened.

‘I love you, John Hamish Watson, and I apologise with all my heart and soul for that fact that I completely disregarded your feelings. I will do everything in my power to make it up to you and I respect your wishes if you want to end this now. But please note that I absolutely love you and would be a broken mess without you. You have made me a far better person than I could ever hope to be on my own. I love you and please forgive me.’

They were silent again, Sherlock’s words sinking in. For an apology... well, it was a damn good one.

‘Sherlock,’ John began and Sherlock held his breath. ‘I don’t want this to end.’

Sherlock relaxed visibly. ‘Really?’

‘Yes,’ John said. ‘I forgive you but it’ll take time for me to trust you again, okay?’

Sherlock nodded. ‘Take all the time you need, John. I will wait for an eternity if it means I can just be with you.’

‘You don’t need to wait that long to be with me,’ John said and circled his arms around Sherlock’s waist. He buried his face in Sherlock’s chest. ‘I missed you.’

‘I missed you too.’

‘Thank you for apologising,’ John said.

‘No need to thank me for apologising, John, I am the idiot,’ Sherlock said and kissed the top of his head. ‘You could never be anything other than a genius and I love you.’

John smiled against him. ‘Please don’t cut yourself,’ he said a minute later.

‘I promise,’ was Sherlock’s response.

They held each other tightly.

 

-oOo-

 

It was a week before John kissed him again. Sherlock was making breakfast, like he always did. For now he was the perfect boyfriend and John knew it wouldn’t last; Sherlock was just trying to get back into his good books.

It was working. The simple fact that Sherlock was taking the time to worm his way back in made John smile; Sherlock would never do this for anyone else... just John.

And really, he didn’t want Sherlock to cook breakfast every day and be the ever-comforting boyfriend. He wanted his arrogant, crass, smug sociopath back. But for now he’d accept scrambled eggs and French toast.

John took the plate and kissed Sherlock slowly, softly, and smiled. ‘Thank you.’

Sherlock beamed, as though John had just made him the happiest man in the world. And, in fact, he had.

‘Not a problem, John.’

 

-oOo-

 

It was another two weeks before John allowed Sherlock to sit on him. Sherlock had put a DVD on and, like usual, he sat beside John on the couch.

‘Come here,’ John said and opened his arms.

Sherlock eyed him cautiously. ‘Really?’

When John nodded Sherlock slid across and slipped onto John’s lap. He rested his head on John’s shoulder and John wrapped his arms around the skinny detective.

‘John?’

‘Mm?’

‘Thank you,’ Sherlock said.

John kissed him softly.

 

-oOo-

 

It was a further month before John allowed Sherlock to hold his hand in public. Suddenly his warm fingers linked with Sherlock’s and Sherlock smiled at him.

John smiled back.

 

-oOo-

 

It was another two months before they had sex again. They’d had many dates with Sherlock taking care to meet John’s every need and tell him he loved him.

John stepped into 221B after a long shift at the surgery and was met with a wonderful smell and warmth. There was a fire in the fireplace and the yellows, oranges, and reds of the flames flickered about. But that wasn’t what caught John’s eyes.

Sitting on a red duvet with pillows behind him was Sherlock. Before him and the fire were two plates of spaghetti and two glasses of red wine. John smiled and removed his jacket, jumper, shoes and socks. He sat down carefully and looked at Sherlock.

Sherlock leaned forward and kissed him delicately. He then pulled a single red rose from behind his back and held it out for John.

‘Happy anniversary, John.’

‘Really?’

‘Eight months,’ Sherlock said.

‘Jesus, I had no idea,’ John said and accepted the rose. ‘I’m sorry I forgot.’

‘That is quite alright,’ Sherlock said and smiled. ‘It’s my fault. I acted inappropriately.’

‘Sherlock, you can stop saying sorry now.’

‘Never,’ Sherlock and kissed John softly. ‘Happy anniversary, John.’

‘Happy anniversary, Sherlock,’ John smiled back.

They sat back and enjoyed a lovely dinner, chatting happily and smiling at each other. They shared soft kisses as the fire flickered beside them. John found himself eyeing the yellows and oranges as Sherlock hummed pleasantly, both of them spread out on the blanket. The plates had been pushed onto the coffee table.

John turned suddenly and kissed Sherlock as he fiddled with the consulting detective’s buttons.

‘John, I don’t need sex, cuddling you is quiet enough.’

John chuckled. ‘I know, Sherlock. But I love you and I’m ready to be physical again.’

‘Are you sure?’ John nodded and Sherlock moved so he could kiss John back. ‘John?’ Sherlock asked a few minutes later as John leaned over him, both of them naked.

‘Mm?

‘Are you still mine?’

John shifted so he could look Sherlock in the eye. ‘Yes.’

‘Yes?’

‘Forever and always, I will be your John. And you will be my Sherlock.’

A grin broke out on Sherlock’s face and he smiled. ‘Good.’

They both leaned into the kiss, gripping each other tightly.


End file.
